Wandering Star
by 3rdTimestheCharms
Summary: With Voldemort defeated,it appeared life would finally settle down to normal for Harry Potter,who was still constantly celebrated as a conquering hero.But trouble always seems to find our now thirty-six year old hero,who finds himself in quite a bind when an old enemy seeks him out for help.Can Harry overcome the challenges he now faces?Along with the feelings that accompany it?
1. Prologue

Prologue

She struggled to stay composed as her footsteps echoed against the cobblestone street at a rapid _tap-tap_ pace, almost like the rhythmic ticking of a bomb before it went off, much like her nerves at hand. It was something she would by no means get used to in the wee hours of the first light.

The lamps which had shone the way down the street had begun to mute, since the glow from the coming dawn was beginning to light the street itself. Frosty wind bit and nibbled at her face, and she tugged the frame of her hood over her mouth with a cower, keeping back the tiny teeth. However, they continued to tear on the skin of her forehead, and her step slowed.

Every now and then you could hear a minute cricket still performing its cheery song like a long-night drunkard, and the petite hoot of an owl, which almost seemed to chide the cricket to be still. Stars also still peeked from under the covers of coming daylight, but the moon was quickly burrowing itself in the folds.

She knew she needed to hasten.

Anxious by the thought of what would become of her if she did not arrive before the time, she overlooked the chilly air that sought to pierce through her skin, and she turned a sharp left, entering an undersized alleyway.

The alleyway was almost unnoticeable; it couldn't have been more than two feet wide, and the shadow of the buildings on either side of it made it appear to be only a sliver of legroom. It also made it very indistinguishable and clammy, and she cringed as she felt her clothes skim against the slimy walls that were wet with dew and grime. However, she pressed on, seeming resolute to continue down the alley.

Suddenly, very suddenly that it would cause you to inhale sharply, the space opened after she had walked for several minutes. She had come to a dead-end, a circular space surrounded by tall apartments with more long shadows, giving the space an eerie feel. She seemed to feel the ghostliness of it, and she shuddered.

Despite the chills that were rolling down her spine like a Muggle rollercoaster, she strained herself to amble to the center of it, where the ground opened up like a hungry mouth. Suspiciously, she lifted her foot, and set it down into the mouth. Her foot landed on a sodden stair, and she hastily continued at a suddenly alarming rate. It was a wonder she didn't plummet.

Seven steps, twenty steps, thirty-three, then finally thirty-six steps later, she was at the bottom of the staircase. Things were pitch black, and she groped into the cavernous pocket of her cloak, pulling out a wand.

"_Lumos_," she whispered quietly, the tip of her wand illuminating itself, and a circle of area around her.

This revealed the bottom of the stairs to be at the beginning of a long tunnel, dripping with unknown substances, and seeming to lead on forever. With her wand raised above her eyes, she started down it. Instead of the _tap-tap_ her shoes had made on the cobblestone, the reverberation her shoes made against the floor of the tunnel was a _splosh-splish_, and she cringed inwardly at every step.

The light from her wand revealed that the tunnel in fact did not go on forever. She only had to pace a little distance before reaching the dead-end here, a wooden door that appeared ill-used and rotted. She elevated a delicate hand to the wood, and knocked a certain amount of times. At first, there was only the echo of her knocking, but several moments in later, during which her heart palpitated quickly, a wispy voice called out from the other side.

"Password?" it drawled in an almost unbearably sluggish tone, as if straining to make every letter resound clearly.

She took a breath, reassuring herself before she used her mouth to speak.

"Doing right as can obediently," she replied, her voice wavering over each word like she was being shook at the same time.

"Enter, Mudblood," the voice said in return, his words no longer drawn out, but snappish.

Her brows furrowed slightly, but she seemed more irritated rather than insulted at the vulgar remark. He always said it, and she was quite used to ignoring it now. The door opened with an ear-slicing scrape, and she gritted her teeth in response.

She peered around the door as she went through the opening. No one was there to greet her from the other side, but she wasn't alarmed by the fact, or think she must be barmy.

_He still doesn't show himself_, she thought with mild musing, lifting her wand to her face again as her trek continued. _He never does. If I ever get the courage, I really should think to ask who he is… He gives me the shivers._

The tunnel seemed to end a few feet from the door, but striding a little closer showed there was a sharp turn right.

Turning right meant entering a large, circular room. It was magnificent. The walls were hung with blood red tapestries, lined with golden-looking tassels and fringe on every border. The floor was covered in the red colour as well, the carpet smooth and refined. Candles hung from the ceiling above, giving the room a sleepy glow. Large red lounging chairs were scattered around the room, a particularly large one placed to the side of the space, a large maple desk covered with papers before it.

She paused in awe for a moment. She was used to the room, she had been here plenty of times, but the richness of it always took her breath away. As every time she entered, her eyes zeroed upon a large pedestal in the very center, small stairs leading up to either side.

Atop the pedestal was a large, silver bowl, with water filled to the brim. It sparkled as the candles reflected in the water, giving it a gold look. Disappointment filled her at the sight of it, and she tore her eyes away, now settling upon the largest chair.

"I have news," she announced breathlessly, gazing at it with a suddenly tense expression.

As if rising from the immense chair's cushions, a tall man stood, hands placed on the desk. His features were muscled and square, as if two people had stood on either side of him and pulled at his face. Long, oily hair adorned his head, tied back in a careless ponytail that went down his back. His clothes seemed shabby compared to the room; denim jeans and a simply white T-shirt.

"You do?" he asked. His voice was melodious, but frightening at the same time. The feeling on your first day of a school you really like, but are nervous to go to.

She nodded slowly, her hair shifting over her shoulders. "I think I…well, found the one."

His black orbs gazed upon her for several seconds, before striding over to where she stood.

"You have the proof?" he asked coolly, though his voice now seemed to twist.

She reached into her pocket, already having discarded her wand there, and pulled out a second object, a small vial that was corked to keep the contents from spilling, which was a white, sticky looking liquid that was small in amount, clinging to the bottom of the container.

In a sharp movement, the vial was gone from her grasp, and in the rough hands of the male, scanning it over quickly, somehow managing to appear clumsy but elegant as he did so. She held her breath in anticipation.

He turned away from her, and strode over to the pedestal, uncorking the container with a _pop_. He held the vial over the bowl, its reflection shimmering in the water. He simply held it there for several seconds, a strangely sweet smell wafting into the room like a mist. She felt heat rise to her cheeks slightly, but continued to stare stoically at the mind, appearing to be intent on sniffing the odd smell for another minute.

Finally, with a jerking movement, he tipped the contents into the bowl of water, saying loudly as he did so:

"For whom it is reserved."

The sticky substance shifted slowly into the water, pooling under the spot from whence it was poured, before sifting into the water.

A heart-beat later, the water suddenly shook and vibrated inside the bowl, almost like an earthquake was giving it quite a shake, which was odd, for all was calm except for the water. The man took a hasty step back, eyes suddenly aglow with joyous greed. The bowl started to shake back and forth repeatedly until it toppled over onto the floor. The man and she did not seem at all hastened to clean the mess; in fact, she looked relieved that it had happened.

As the liquid shifted across the carpet, now a pure white, it became a thin line, as if it had banks on either side of it that kept it from spreading across the floor.

The man let out a joyful exclamation, darting over to the maple desk, and snatching a small, round object that seemed to be a compass. He stood directly above the small line of white water, holding the compass out in front of him. It pointed directly between the west and the south.

"South-west," he breathed, his hands almost trembling. He was in such a hurry he simply dropped the compass, and pushed around the papers on his desk, grabbing a quill, and hurriedly jotting the direction down.

"I have it. Thank god, I have it!" he shouted, like a child on Christmas, staring at the water which now began to seep into the thick carpet.

"Tell me, do tell, whose seed was it? Who is our map?"

She grinned slightly, seeming to relax now. Her eyes shone just as greedy as his.

"The seed belonged to Draco Malfoy."


	2. Chapter I

_Hi there! And welcome to chapter one of my fan fiction. _

_First off, J.K. Rowling owns all rights to Harry Potter, but I own the rights to this particular story. I do not claim that these characters are mine, except for the ones that are obviously not in the books._

_So, this is, of course, a Harry and Draco story. It will contain many sexual themes, so viewer discretion advised._

_Well, I really don't have much else to say. Have comments or suggestions? Write a review. C: _

**Chapter I**

_**Harry Potter**_

The tepid liquid passed his lips and slid down his throat, a satisfying feel that seemed to reenergize his drained body alert. The taste, though it might seem bitter to one not used to the drink, settled his senses from their slightly disorientated state to once again being awake and wary.

He glanced out the window, framed by cinnamon brown curtains that just brushed against the wood floor, and inhaled the scent of his tea. The sun was just fully above the horizon, and the warm, golden glow seeped through the glass and into the kitchen, giving it a serene feel.

He leaned back in his chair, the wood of it creaking in protest against the added weight. His eyes trailed around the uncomplicated space with drowsy green eyes, a smile flitting across his lips as he took another mouthful of tea.

"Good morning Harry!" came a light voice behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder at Ginny, who looked revitalized. It made him wonder how she could be so energetic in the morning, while he felt sluggish.

He returned the greeting with a grin, and the chair creaked once more as he stood up, striding forward to his wife.

"Good morning to you, too," he replied, though his voice was marred by a yawn that had snuck in. His arms slid snuggly around her waist, and he pressed his lips to her forehead. She smelled of soap.

A smile lit up Ginny's face, and she brought her arms up around his shoulders, her fingers combing themselves into the hair on the back of his neck. Her thin lips pressed themselves to his cheek.

"You actually managed to get up before I did," she said teasingly, her voice an undertone against his ear as they stood embracing in the kitchen. A chuckle floated up Harry's throat.

"Sometimes it just happens," he replied simply, shrugging at the mention. He had been quite taken aback himself to realize he had awakened an hour before his alarm, but oddly couldn't fall back asleep. He had this feeling he just couldn't quite place…his stomach twisting peculiarly that he felt sleep was simply mission impossible.

A grin now extended Ginny's lips. "Now that the kids are at Hogwarts, we'll have plenty of time to ourselves."

"It's only been a week since we dropped them off. Keen on enjoying time without them already?" Harry replied, teasing his wife as he nosed through her intense red hair, an amused smile playing on his mouth. "We still have Lily though."

A mocking pout crossed her features, and she gazed up at the other's face. "I'm simply going to enjoy our extended alone time. Lily still takes naps…" she murmured suggestively, the fingers entangled in Harry's hair now twirling the hair as her eyes lingered on his strong chest.

Harry felt his face heat a little, and he loosened his hold on his wife's waist, a bit of a smile showing. "Later. I'll go wake up Lily, though she's bound to be awake anyway. The little bugger is always getting hungry so quick."

A glower had now replaced the pout, and Harry swiftly pressed his lips to the tip of Ginny's nose, before releasing her form his hold, and marching around her to the stairs, placing a hand on the rail.

Ginny had become…different these past few years. The passion from which they married so quickly had died a bit in him, and now the only way Harry could describe their marriage relation was like brother and sister. Harry still adored Ginny…but he didn't feel it was the love Ginny seemed to still feel, evident in her persistent suggestions to having sex. It seemed that they hadn't had any in ages… Harry just couldn't do it anymore. It didn't seem right. He didn't feel it like he had years ago.

He didn't know what to say to his wife. He couldn't divorce her when the kids were still so young, though it pained him to pretend that he still felt the passionate love when they kissed or touched. It was wrong. He couldn't hurt Ginny like that.

As his feet clomped up the stairs, he glanced back down, at the kitchen doorway. Harry could hear the sounds of breakfast being prepared, and he smiled. Maybe he could still do it, for the kids and Ginny's heart.

What surprised him, as he made his way down the hall to his young daughter's bedroom door, was the voice of Draco Malfoy in his mind.

_Why do you have to be so bloody noble? _Draco taunted in his head. _Don't you care about your happiness at all? Fuck, you're pretty thick, Potter._

Harry stood still in front of the door, staring at the wood floors beneath his feet. He did care about his happiness! But Ginny's and the kids…those had to come first. They meant the world to him, like his friends.

What bothered him was the fact he had even thought of the git, Malfoy. They hadn't talked or made any contact at all over the years, and the only recent time Harry ever saw Draco in person was at the 9 ¾ station.

Harry had also seen him in the _Prophet_ several times; something about a scandal and possible rumors of him abusing his wife. It was not something Harry had wanted to read about when he had seen the article titles, so he skipped them.

But, Draco still looked almost as he did from Hogwarts, as Harry noted from the _Prophet _pictures and when he had spotted him at the station. Lean, painfully thin, and so pale he could've been pure white.

Harry didn't think he had changed much over the years either; he still wore his circular glasses, but now constantly sported a five o'clock shadow of stubble on his chin. Harry liked the way it looked.

Harry twisted the knob to his daughter's bedroom, and peered in. It was dark, though sunlight was struggling to pierce through the drawn curtains, giving the air a musty look. Lily likes to collect things, so her room was full of odd little knick-knacks and odd objects. In a corner was pushed her bed, and in the bed was a bump that meant she was buried under the covers again.

Harry smiled fondly, and carefully picked his way to her bedside.

"Lily?" he asked softly, nudging her form. "Lily, it's time to wake up. Mum is making breakfast."

The form stirred, and a tiny female rose, a yawn opening her mouth like an O. She blinked wearily at her father, rubbing her eyes with a tiny fist.

Harry ruffled her hair, and stood up. "Be downstairs in five minutes, alright?"

Lily nodded, still rubbing her eye. Harry made his way back to the door, and was halfway down the stairs when a shout from outside the front door startled him.

"What the—?" he started in surprise, before it came again. Someone was now pounding on the door and screaming his name through the thick wood.

Highly alarmed, Harry rushed down the rest of the steps and jogged to the front door, unlocking it with a flick of his wand, which he kept behind his ear, a handy place he had learned from Luna, and then pulling it open.

What he saw caused his body to freeze in shock.

Draco Malfoy was collapsed on his doorstep, a trail of blood leading to a horrible gash on his naked thigh. He wore nothing but boxers despite the fact it was about forty degrees in the mornings now. Tears were pouring from widened grey eyes, and his hands clenched the door mat, that had a printed welcome in curly letters.

For a whole minute, they stared at each other, one of Draco's hands still balled in a fist and poised to bang on the door. His whole body seemed to shake with quick breathing.

"Harry, dear, what in the name of Merlin was that—oh?" Ginny exclaimed, stopping short behind her husband at the sight of Draco in front of their door. Her face coloured with what seem alarm and slight anger that Harry didn't understand as he glanced to her face.

"Mummy? What was that noise—?" came yet another voice from behind them, and Ginny whipped around, grabbing Ginny by the shoulders.

"Come help Mummy make breakfast, Lily," she said quickly, pushing the little girl from the doorway and further inside.

Harry's eyes were still glued to Draco's, his heart beating rapidly.

"Malfoy…?" he murmured.

_**Draco Malfoy**_

It stung his eyes. He could feel it trying to prod his eyelids open, colours dancing against his lids, yellows and reds. He forcefully kept them shut, however, not feeling the urge to open them just yet.

He stayed entangled within the covers, not moving at all during the struggle to keep his eyes closed against the sunlight that persisted from the drawn curtains on his window. His sheets twisted around his body, leaving his legs out along with an arm. The chill of the room was getting to him, and his body curled into a ball, but it didn't help the slight breeze, whose fingers tickled his skin, leaving goose flesh after its touch.

With a light groan of annoyance, he pushed himself up to a sitting position on the far left of his bed. His spider-like fingers tugged against the sheets, pulling against them, imploring them with his tugs to release his body from their hold.

When he was finally released, he swung his thin, pale legs over the side of his bed, and he sighed hollowly, resting his face in his hands, which were prodded up on their elbows on his knees. He felt thick-headed and weary.

His night had been a fitful one. He knew some time in the morning Astoria had risen and gone off for her morning jog. At least, that's what she said she did, but Draco knew he could care less what his wife did, since she held the same opinion of him, and he didn't give the occurrence another thought.

He reached blindly for his robe which lay in a crumpled heap on the floor beside his bed, and pulled it on over his bare body, wearing only his boxers despite the cool morning. He tied it tightly around his thin waist, which reminded him he had forgotten to eat supper that night. Not that he very much cared.

He stood up, the bed creaking slightly as it was now free of his little weight. He heard the door open downstairs, and he knew Astoria must be home. Good. He wanted breakfast.

Slipping his hands into the pockets of his robe coolly, he strode down the marble stairs to the dining room, expecting his wife to bring him breakfast there. She usually did when she came home, so he sat down in one of the velvet metal chairs, and he crossed his arms over his thin chest, staring at nothing as he waited less than patiently.

She came in as if on cue, her face red from the frosty winds of the outdoors, still wearing the brown cape she wore out every morning to shield her body from the cold. Draco was now tapping his finger on the table, glancing up with her.

Draco narrowed his eyes a little at her; she looked different today. She had that look in her eyes, the one he regrettably noticed every time she was planning to spend a lot of money, or get some. Draco hated that look. It was ugly. He hated ugly.

"What's up with you this morning?" he drawled, dragging his delicate fingers through the fruit that was placed, or more like levitated, to where he sat. Usually, the house-elf brought breakfast, but on Wednesdays, Astoria had thought it'd be a nice, romantic thing for her to do. It made Draco want to retch. Romantic wasn't his thing.

Astoria glanced at him with steely eyes, folding her hands behind her back.

"Nothing," she replied, her voice collectedly calm. She walked up, appearing to be taking a seat beside him.

Draco rolled his eyes in disbelief, taking a bite form a very red apple that had been placed on his plate. "Stop lying. You're annoying me," he added, narrowing his grey eyes.

Something seemed to flash in her eyes, but she stayed seated on the chair, her hands folded in her lap.

"I have the _Prophet _for you to read," she murmured quietly pushing the paper towards the other.

Draco glanced at it, but didn't pick it up. He already could feel a headache coming, and he had no interest in making it worse, or add to his hidden misery. He had been slandered enough by the _Prophet_. So many lies had been spread by the bloody newspaper. Everyone avoided him mainly because of this reason. His wife got the pity, while he got ostracized. Not that he cared…

His thoughts strangely drifted to Harry Potter. He was always talked about in the _Prophet_, praised for being such a hero. No journalist dared write bad things about Perfect Potter.

He played with the rubber-band that kept the paper rolled up, and help the owls carry it in their beaks. Over the years, he found himself yearning to be near Harry again. In school, he had taken it for granted. But now…he had no reason to even talk to the other. Harry didn't seem to need to bother with him anyway.

Draco swallowed the apple he was chewing harshly at this, and he coughed a little, his eyes lifting from his dazed stare at the paper. What met his eyes was the long point of a knife, and he felt his body stiffen, as if he was glued to his rich chair.

"What…?" he whispered, hearing the tremble in his own voice.

Astoria was smiling ruefully at him, and she lowered the knife down his chest, and he could feel it lightly poke. His heart beat fast, and he felt cold.

"I…If you wanted gold, you could just say so!" he spat shakily, as the knife pointed over his body.

Desperation suddenly filled Astoria's eyes, and he felt the knife press harder against his thigh. He winced in fear as he felt a bead of blood roll down it, causing a shiver to roll down his spine in reply.

"Oh, I want gold," she hissed. "but not your measly supply. I'm going to get something bigger; but I need some of your blood before that can happen...!"

Draco, still feeling shocked, screamed out in pain as the knife suddenly dug into his skin, ripping it open. Bloody seeped from the wound, colouring his thigh a deep red as it flowed freely, causing his head to spin.

With his heart beating rapidly in his chest, he desperately flung himself from the chair, collapsing with a shriek as pain filled every fiber of his being. Hands gripped his shoulders, and he felt tears sting his eyes.

"Hold still!" Astoria spat, a cup gripped tightly in her hand, so tight her knuckles were white, but not whiter than Draco's now pale face.

"Fuck!" he screamed, his body stiff with pain. "Get away from me! Oh, Merlin! _Fuck_!"

He found he couldn't move. He didn't have the strength any longer. His body had gone ice cold, and he could still feel a pool of blood below his marred thigh. He had to get out. What in the name of Merlin was going on?

He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt his wife advance, trying to focus his mind. He needed to apparate—but where? He had to get away from his own house! But he had no friends to go to, no one he could rely on.

_Potter._

The name popped into his head like someone had snapped in his ear, and he huffed, still trying to pull himself across the floor. He had been passed Potter's place a few years back…during his depression years… He tried to focus on the image, and he felt if he didn't hurry, he would pass out. Fuck, it hurt.

With a huff, he felt himself traveling, though his eyes didn't open. Traveling, traveling—till finally, he felt solid ground beneath his body, and he quickly opening his eyes.

The first thing he felt was freezing. It was an exceptionally cold morning, and being only in his boxers made it worse. Not the mention he was bleeding to his death. He had been in a situation like this before…so many years back at Hogwarts…but there was no Professor Snape to help him now.

_Potter's house is just a few feet away_, he thought weakly, pulling himself by his arms across the rough cement and stone, now more desperate than ever. It scratched his skin and elbows, and he felt hot tears wet his cheeks.

Finally, he was pulling himself up the other's walk, crying out uncontrollably in pain as his thigh throbbed. He was almost there! He groaned slightly, gripping the other's welcome mat to pull himself up. Finally, he let it all out, just hoping Harry was home. Merlin, he was going to see him…

"Potter!" he shouted, it almost coming out a wail. He banged on the door with his fist, which was balled tightly. Tears continued down his cheeks. He could hear footsteps inside. Oh, thank Merlin!

"Potter!' he called again, panting. Merlin, he was hyperventilating!

The door finally opened, and Draco blinked, staring up at Harry Potter, who looked shocked as he looked down back at Draco.

He felt his head start to spin, the world becoming bleary, and he couldn't decide if it was because of his tears, or the blood. He was seeing Harry again…he felt painful ecstasy cause his heart to beat faster, now gasping for breath. He could hear more people behind Harry, but he didn't care… Merlin, he just wanted the fucking pain gone…

He could hear Harry addressing him…but no reply formed on his chapped lips as he felt himself lose it. The darkness roughly grabbed and dragged him down, and he slumped on the other's doorstep.


End file.
